by Mark Shand
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ I asked incredulously.
‘I have no idea,’ he laughed. ‘Anyway we shall be without them for a few days. We are entering the forests of Daitari tomorrow and Bhim has announced that Tara is fit enough to carry the howdah.’
‘What about my puja?’ I insisted anxiously. ‘Why can’t we find this bloody mimosa plant?’
‘Slowly, Mark, remember this is India.’
‘Slowly indeed.’ At this rate I was going to walk to Sonepur, I thought, as I finished my mug of coffee.
We were sitting round the fire which had been made in the crumbling porch of a deserted house near our camp. Bhim suddenly jumped to his feet and pointed into the dark confines of the house. ‘Nag, nag!’ he cried excitedly. Everybody immediately disappeared and I was left sitting bewildered.
‘What the hell’s going …’
‘Get out of there, Mark!’ Aditya shouted.
‘Will somebody tell me what’s going on?’
‘Nag, nag!’
‘What in the hell is nag?’
‘A snake, you idiot! Cobra!’ Aditya yelled from the jeep, from which he, Bhim, Gokul and Indrajit reappeared armed with axes.
‘Jeeesus! A snake! Oh my God!’ I shot out of the porch and fled towards Tara who in the circumstances seemed to be the safest bet, noting on my way that Khusto had climbed on top of the jeep. The boys advanced quickly into the house and a tremendous mêlée started. Shouts and screams followed by the sound of metal ringing on stone. I returned as nonchalantly as possible.
‘Well?’
‘Nag escape,’ Bhim stated crossly. ‘Big, maybe seven feet.’
‘Seven feet!’ I cried. ‘Well, where is it now?’
‘Maybe tent,’ he leered happily. A thorough inspection of our sleeping quarters was made, but none of us slept well that night.
Early next morning before setting off, Aditya and I took a detour to visit Bhuban, famous as Asia’s most populated village. Our mission was more than one of tourism: we were to buy ‘bombs’, anti-elephant devices that Bhim said we might well need over the next few days. The houses of Bhuban are so close together that their thatched roofs join over the narrow alleys, cutting out the light, and only single-line pedestrian traffic is possible. None the less, in the maze of shops selling brass and metal objects for which Bhuban has a reputation, we located the bomb-seller.
The bombs were hard and round, about the size of golf balls, and were wrapped in brightly coloured paper. When thrown against something hard they exploded like army thunderflashes. These ethnic grenades scared the hell out of me, and it was hoped that they would have the same effect on a wild animal.
By the time we returned to camp Tara was fully loaded. Unhappy about this sudden extra weight, she kept whipping her trunk back trying to undo Bhim’s knots. From the front she looked like an old bag lady. Pots, pans, kerosene stoves and old sacks filled with tinned food hung from one side. Over the other flank dangled tents, sleeping bags, pillows, axes and cameras. All this paraphernalia had been placed in two white nylon hammocks that I had brought from England, so that from the back she resembled some grotesque model, wearing gigantic shoulder pads. As a deterrent against the hot sun, the top of her head had been oiled and it gleamed like a patent leather shoe. When Gokul, eager to see her reaction, exploded a bomb beneath her feet, she displayed the same patience as a nanny with a small naughty child, simply turning her head and giving him a look as if to say, ‘Silly child,’ and continued trying to undo the knots. It was not surprising that she didn’t react. Rajpath must have taken her through so many town festivals that she was now indifferent to ordeal by firecracker.
There are four ways to climb on to an elephant. The first, and the one that we were about to adopt, is the easiest for the passenger and the most uncomfortable for the elephant. With a command of ‘Baitho!’ the elephant kneels and one clambers up on to the howdah by way of stepping on to the top of the front part of either leg, grabbing on to the ear, and hauling oneself up. In the old days a ladder would be produced or one would mount from a special block. The second way is harder. Upon the command of ‘Utha! utha!’ the elephant lifts either of its front legs and, grabbing the ear, one steps on to the leg and is raised up like an elevator. The third is over the backside. The elephant lowers one of its back legs, and one simply catches on to her tail or the crupper rope. The fourth, the expert’s way, and the way that I hoped one day to achieve, is by the trunk. It looks so casual, elegant and simple. The trunk is lowered to the ground; placing a foot about in the centre, one holds both ears and is hoisted up and over.
Having awkwardly, but successfully climbed aboard, I settled into the howdah and noticed Aditya about to mount with his boots on.
‘Take off your boots,’ I said.
‘What?’ he exclaimed crossly. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know why. But from now on, no boots when riding Tara.’ For some inexplicable reason I felt her to be as sacred as the deck of a yacht and I was delighted when I saw Bhim nod his approval. Grumbling, Aditya untied his boots, threw them up to me and climbed aboard. Tara immediately rose to her feet and we were lifted gently upwards. Elephant-back at last, I thought happily. We really have started the journey.
8
An Angry Tusker
I do not know why it is, but the instant I am on an elephant I do not feel afraid for myself or anybody else. When the tall grass shakes and the elephants begin to scream, I ask whether it is a tiger or a rhinoceros in exactly the same tone I should ask the servants whether it is a partridge or a pheasant.
Fanny Eden, Indian Journals 1837–1838,
Tigers, Durbars and Kings
FROM THE VERY moment that Tara took her first step forward, I was filled with a complete sense of security, cocooned, wrapped in cotton-wool. I knew that while this wonderful benign animal lumbered below me, nothing could go wrong. From twelve feet up the view was spectacular. The landscape took on a different perspective and one could see both far and near – the blazing yellow of a distant mustard field or the early morning goings on over a mud wall of a village. But it was the feeling of invincibility that struck me most. My imagination ran riot, and I became the ‘King of Bliss’ surrounded by a thousand elephants, revelling in the horror and fear of my foes.
The experts told me that it would be uncomfortable, tedious and even painful to travel in a howdah. How wrong they were. I found the soft swaying motion relaxing, almost too relaxing. On occasion, I fell asleep, and just caught myself before I slid off. To prevent this, I fashioned a sling from a length of rope and found I could lie back with my feet hanging over her backside. Then, after plugging in my Walkman, I could recline like a Maharaja, listening to the strains of Italian opera while a huge, never changing empty sky passed by overhead. Occasionally, like a tiny silver arrow, an aeroplane would flash far above. I felt sorry for the passengers squeezed into their pressurized chamber, hurrying from one destination to the next, unable to see the beauty that I was so fortunate to be enjoying. Gradually I was slowing down, slowing down to the pace of a country in which if one moves fast, one misses everything – and like a patient tutor Tara was influencing me, showing me the way.
We were now climbing steadily and passing through Orissa’s mining belt – a dull, wide, angry landscape, dotted with huge rocky escarpments gouged out and scarred by blasting and bulldozers. In the distance I could see the forested ranges of Daitari shimmering blue in the heat haze. It was hot. As elephants do not sweat, Tara cooled herself down by looping her trunk into her mouth, extracting a mixture of spit and water and blowing it in a fine spray over her flanks and under her belly. Elephants, like camels, can store water. They have a kind of shut-off valve system that they can open and close as they wish. As the sun became fiercer, she piled a bonnet of straw and leaves on top of her head. Her great ears, the smooth skin behind their wide spread knotted with thick veins, flapped rhythmically, acting as ventilation under which Bhim would occasionally stretch o
ut his legs and manipulate her with his toes to urge her on. Each toe had a life of its own, pushing, probing and playing like the fingers of a concert pianist. Then he would sit back on the front of the howdah and work her head with the heels of his feet, pushing forward and down. No commands were necessary. It was all being done by touch. Bhim told me to watch his movements carefully and learn. A true master remains silent. Considering my appalling Hindi accent, this would certainly make life easier.
Another example of Bhim’s expertise came when Gokul, who would be walking alongside us, would change into the driving seat. Tara’s pace would then alter considerably and she would slow right down, however much Gokul shrieked commands at her. She knew instinctively that she was now in control and exploited the situation mercilessly.
We made camp under a lone Peepul tree on top of a small hillock by the side of the road. The heat had sapped our strength and we slept for most of the afternoon. In the evening I went to feed Tara her gur. She greeted me with an affectionate rumble, wrapped her trunk around me drawing me closer, searching my body for her treat. The vet at Nandankanan had also given me some deworming powder for her, a little of which I had hidden in a thick ball of gur.
‘Lay, lay! Tara,’ I commanded.
She opened her mouth wide, exposing tiny six-inch tusks on either side and I caught a glimpse of her gigantic molars. I placed the ball on her fat pink tongue which was as soft as a blancmange and watched the obvious pleasure appear on her face. It changed quickly to one of ‘You can’t fool me’ as she delicately removed the ball, placed it on the ground, broke it open with her trunk, blew the powder out, remoulded it and popped it back into her mouth. She did, however, like some medicines. As I kissed her goodnight, she reached into the top pocket of my shirt and pulled out a new packet of Setlers which she swallowed whole with relish.
Over the next few days we crossed heavily wooded highlands which in some places were as high as three and a half thousand feet, to Keonjhar, the capital of this large hilly district. The rocky ground, called laterite or iron sandstone, was of a sombre dark reddish colour. When I picked up a stone I was surprised by its lightness and the large round holes, like those of a sponge. All ancient temples, forts and palaces in Orissa are built with this stone, and, mixed with gravel, so are most of the roads. Our progress was slow as Tara picked her way carefully avoiding the sharp stones to prevent injuring her sensitive feet.
As we reached the summits which, from below, appeared as sharp peaks, we crossed extensive tablelands filled with green paddy in which women, wearing a colourful blaze of saris and large cane cone-shaped hats, were reaping the harvest. As the sun reached its zenith they shaded themselves under the trees, singing and combing each other’s hair in the heat. We heard them giggling as we passed and they waved shyly.
‘It reminds me of summer in England,’ Aditya remarked.
‘I didn’t know you’d been there,’ I said.
‘Yes, in 1970. I worked in Kent, picking hops, although I didn’t sit around like these girls. I worked from 5.30 in the morning until 7 o’clock at night. He was a bastard, that foreman, a real driver of slaves.’
‘That’s probably exactly what he thought you were,’ I joked, ‘fresh off a boat that had sneaked in somewhere on the coast at night.’
‘I most certainly was not,’ he replied indignantly. ‘I hitchhiked all the way from India. But let me tell you, I felt like one the way that I was treated. I don’t have many good memories of England at that time.’
‘Well,’ I murmured philosophically, ‘here we are now, riding across India together on an elephant. What could be more apt?’
At that moment Tara shot out her trunk and grabbed a pile of paddy that was laid out to dry on the roadside. Bhim picked up the ankush and jabbed the sharp spiked end into the top of her head. She squealed, violently shaking her head in pain. I watched with fascinated horror as a large drop of blood bubbled from her skin. With a roar of rage I tore the ankush from Bhim’s hand, grabbed hold of one of the ropes and swung on to the ground.
‘That’s it!’ I yelled. ‘The journey’s over. I will not have my elephant hurt. You can all find your own way back.’
I stamped off down the road. Ten minutes later Aditya caught up with me. I stared at the bloody tip of the ankush.
‘Forget it, Aditya,’ I said. ‘You can’t say anything …’
‘Now listen!’ Aditya shouted. ‘Who in hell do you think you are? Elephant Bill? What do you know about elephants? Bhim would not use the ankush unless it was absolutely necessary. Before you interrupt, let me tell you what he told me. Tara was stealing. And I have just had to pay that poor farmer compensation. It is not Tara’s fault though. She was taught these tricks by Rajpath. Many mendicants literally hold people to ransom by getting their elephants to pick up the paddy, unless the farmers pay up. Bhim has to break Tara of the habit of stealing and the ankush is the only way to make her understand.’
I sat down and stared moodily at my bare feet.
‘Come on, Mark. Elephants are big powerful creatures. If you start pampering them you are in trouble. They are intelligent, cunning and deceitful. Believe me, the old man knows what he’s doing. If he fails to convert her now she will only get worse.’
‘All right, I’m sorry,’ I said, slightly mollified. ‘I guess I have a lot to learn, but one thing is for sure, you won’t find me doing that. Shameless bribery with gur rather than sharp jabs with the ankush is going to be my method.’
‘We’ll see,’ he replied. ‘Just wait until you start riding her.’
We walked back to Tara who did not seem at all affected by her punishment. She was pulling up roots, smacking them against her legs to remove the earth, then stuffing them into her mouth. We climbed back on board and Bhim pointed at her head. ‘See, Raja-sahib. I fix.’ A small poultice of herbs was attached to the wound. ‘No hurt now. Bhim sorry, but Raja-sahib must learn. Mummy learning also.’
Apart from the numerous anti-elephant machans dotted everywhere, the paddy fields that we now passed were surrounded by anti-elephant ditches seven feet deep, five feet wide at the top, tapering to about two feet at the bottom. Wild elephants are powerless to cross them except during the monsoons when the ditches silt up. Around the planted fields there were fences of twisted creepers in which wild mint grew in abundance, filling the air with its sharp aroma.
Then we entered the silent darkness of the forest and all was still again. Tara suddenly stopped, her huge ears spreading outwards. She extended her trunk upwards and moved it from side to side scanning and smelling the air.
‘Haathi,’ Bhim whispered. ‘Close.’
Aditya reached for his camera bag. In the process he knocked it against a metal strut. With a sharp downward gesture of his hand Bhim indicated him to keep still and with another instructed Gokul to climb aboard. There was no noise, only the sound of dripping water. Then a sharp ‘Tuk, tuk, tuk’ split the silence and a coppersmith bird rang its alarm bell.
From the corner of my eye I caught a slight movement. A soft sound, almost inaudible, was the only indication that the foliage was being gently brushed aside. Like ghosts, three female elephants appeared and stood motionless on the road in front of us. I could feel Tara trembling beneath me. The wild elephants let out a deep rumble and extended their trunks towards Tara. They seemed much larger than her, more muscular, their bodies sculpted like sheet armour on a tank. Then as quickly and quietly as they had appeared, they disappeared.
I let out my breath and was about to reach for a cigarette when Bhim gave another of his urgent hand signals. We heard a movement, as if the grass were being crushed by some huge, unidentified force and suddenly a large male elephant with tusks almost three foot long confronted us. The tusks were not white, as I had expected, but yellow, and the tips dark from where he had been digging in the earth. Tara was trembling violently and Bhim was having trouble holding her steady. We were so close I could see the flies clustered around the tusker’s mean little eyes.
Without warning he rapped his trunk on the ground, emitting a terrifying sound that somebody once described as like ‘shaking a large sheet of thin metal’ caused by air being driven out of the trunk as it strikes the ground.
‘Quick,’ Bhim hissed. ‘He angry. Throw bombs.’
Gokul, who always carried a permanent supply like a kid with fireworks, hurled one on to the ground. Nothing happened. It failed to explode. The tusker took one step forward, throwing his trunk contemptuously into the air, emitting a terrible shrill trumpet, as if warning us to keep our distance. It was so loud, so enveloping that one’s senses reeled. I shook my head to clear it.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ I whispered in desperation. ‘Throw another.’
Leaving nothing to chance, Bhim picked up a bomb, laid it on the flat of the howdah and hit it with the ankush. There was a blinding flash, a puff of blue smoke, and when it had cleared the road was empty. We could hear the elephants crashing away through the trees, as delayed shock set in. But in that moment of silence, before terror turns to laughter, the primal energy of the absent beast still vibrated in the void. It seemed almost impossible to go forward. The silence of the jungle was no longer tranquil. It had become predatory.
‘What would have happened if we hadn’t got the bombs?’ I asked, shaken.
‘Maybe trouble,’ Bhim laughed. ‘Forget tell you. Mummy on heat.’ He pointed to the temporal glands, two small holes from which a black viscous fluid was oozing, on either side of her face.
I remembered my amazement when I had seen an elephant’s erect penis at the zoo. It was at least four foot long and as thick as a man’s leg.
9
Firinghee Mahout
WE CAMPED BESIDE bubbling brooks and bathed in clear fresh water. The fodder was abundant and Tara ate well. Gokul trapped fish by making an ingenious dam-like contraption from his underpants and a hammock. Once a large black water snake became ensnared in it. We were all fitter and stronger. Aditya and I were beginning to lose our city bellies. Bhim had changed. Gone was the alcoholic ravaged face. His eyes were clear and he walked erect like a proud foot soldier. He explained it was nothing to do with the exercise but due to the good booze he was drinking. In Nandankanan, he told us, each day he drank two bottles of local hooch spiced with fertiliser to give it a kick. The pain in his stomach was sometimes so bad he was unable to walk.